Inquisitor
by Poetaitos
Summary: Dorian doubts the Herald's true identity, but what he decides to do to find out may warrant some serious consequences. [m/m] [slow-build] (DISCONTINUED - WILL BE REVAMPED AND REPUBLISHED. PROFILE NOTES MORE)
1. Part I

**DISCLAIMER :**

 **I will not be paying much attention to the canon storyline, political lectures and all. It'd be a bore to go through the same quests/etc that I'm sure most of us already know and have experienced. Still, I will try to keep basic lore on track.**

.

 _A spur-of-the-moment idea._  
 _May or may not be horrid to read._

 _Lore will definitely be inaccurate at some points; I'm not the most reliable loremaster._  
 _I accept constructive criticism, and correction to false facts._

 _Prior to this, I had tried to read up on the lore, quests and such..._  
 _But I grew lazy and decided to sod it and go off my own way._

 _No doubt that reading this will kill some of you._  
 _I am more than willing to undergo lessons, though, if you so wish to teach me._

 _I have noticed most of the stories on this pairing that I have read have quite a number of sexual scenes.  
I myself like the emotional aspect of their relationship better.  
Of course, it doesn't mean such physical scenarios will be omitted._

 _So - let's take this slow, shall we?_

.

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" **HAS OUR** dear Herald always been this dull?" Dorian Pavus gestured half-animatedly to the stoic figure riding upon an equally stoic mount they had somehow acquired along the road. After the depressing fiasco with Alexius and all, he had fortunately been integrated into the Inquisition, and was now a member of their inner circle. At the moment, they were preparing to seal the Breach once and for all.

"You don't know half of it," Varric Tethras, a rather rowdy yet amusing rogue, grunted. "I could even bet Bianca that not even Andraste herself would be able to force him to speak a word."

"Maybe if we pull a little..." Sera, a most imprudent elf, trailed off, just as Cassandra Pentaghast gave her a stern look. Of course, nothing ever halted the elf, and soon enough, she was rambling on again.

"Mm, I could think of more ways than one to pry those lips open and get him to make some sounds..." Iron Bull, a disgustingly horny Qunari was licking his lips. "It would involve a dark corner, some chains and-"

"Enough, please!" Dorrian raised a hand, holding back a shudder. What a queer little group he was stuck in! He gave the object of their conversation another glance. As expected, he continued to ride, all the while upright and stiff.

The Tevinter mage - or Evil Magister - greatly appreciated the Herald's choice to ally with the rebel mages, and generally speaking, everything he had helped him with, no matter the upsetting consequences and whatnot. He even found the elf to be most aesthetically pleasing to take in with the eyes. Yet, he was almost unnervingly silent and reserved; even when both were stuck in a time displacement rift, he barely spoke a word unless out of absolute necessity.

An image of the elf, looking not at all distraught as they stood before the magical time rift that Dorian was opening, flashed in his mind. Dorian blinked, and shook his head to clear off the thought.

"Say, anyone know about the Herald's past flings and all?" Varric suddenly said. "I've just got this brilliant idea for my next book...

.

...

.

"So, ah-" Dorian resisted rubbing his face. Things were beginning to take an awkward turn. The Herald continued to give him a blank, yet prodding look as he took a delicate sip from his tankard. "Do you wish for me to address you as Ser Holier Than Thou, or...?"

How had things gotten this way, exactly?

Ah, now he remembered. He had been drinking with Blackwall, a thankfully-not-as-quiet warrior, and Sera. He had been most taken aback when they waved him over. He was too used to being ignored and despised. Blackwall had been explaining to him about the Grey Wardens and divulging the barest of his past, when Sera had abruptly suggested pulling a prank on Vivienne, in an attempt to 'cheer that face up'.

"Aren't you upset about the newly-found allegiance, as well?" Blackwall had raised a brow. Sera pulled a face in return.

"Oh, sure," she readily agreed, eyes wide as she scanned the tavern. "But it's so tiring to be upset for long. No fun if you're gloomy, yeah?" she giggled that weird giggle for the hundredth time. The Grey Warden gave the slightest of shrugs, and began to continue conversing with the mage when Sera squealed again.

"I would greatly appreciate it," Dorian grimaced, nearly splashing his ale over himself. "If you offered to learn basic etiquette and social norms."

"Whatever, dress-boy," the female rolled her eyes, grinning widely. The mage was sure she got the idea for that nickname from Iron Bull. "You sit here and be boring till you die. I'm gonna have a little fun with mister over there," she pointed to where the Herald was sitting, quietly conversing with Solas, a massive bookworm and elf scholar.

"And dare to disturb him from his intellectual debate?" Dorian smirked, holding back from spitting out the disgusting brew.

"He's alone, now," the rogue retorted. However, at that moment, the male elf turned to gaze at the trio, black eyes narrowed yet never divulging any sort of emotion. Suddenly wishing to spare the Herald the horrors of Sera's company, and wanting to perhaps strike up a conversation for himself, Dorian got up, grabbed his own mug, and made his way to the watching hunter.

"You spoil all the fun," he heard Sera say, before Blackwall gave a grim chuckle.

"You may address me as that, if you so wish."

Gah, Dorian should have stayed with them. It would have been easier than having to deal with such a situation. Mind you, he was exceptionally good at talking and the like, but it became difficult when you had such a dead audience. Nothing to give you that adrenaline to rally supporters and start a civil war.

"Uh, no, I'd rather just Herald," he replied. It was amazing, that he was able to maintain eye contact. The lifeless stare of the elf resembled that of a Tranquil. As social and charming as he was, he never felt too comfortable around them. Perhaps it was due to the fact that they were fellow mages. At that thought, he nearly reared back as a disturbing, yet very possible thesis hit him.

"Something wrong, Dorian?" the elf blinked. He took another sip. "You seem perturbed."

"Nothing at all," he smoothly covered up. "I'd reckon that Herald itself is a bit off to call you by it. May I be granted the honour of your last name?" There, a quick, non-showy way of priding himself on his upbringing. At that moment, he remembered that elves were slaves in his homeland, and almost bit his tongue.

"Lavellan," his leader replied after a slight pause.

"Lavellan, it is," Dorian nodded, hoping he had not thought of what he had thought.

"Have they been giving you a hard time?"

"Concerned about the Evil Magister, aren't you?" Dorian smiled with teeth. Well, that was a surprise. Fancy him taking the initiative in continuing the conversation. He faltered. "Well, the rest of them seem to like me... enough." He nearly showed his whites at the memory of Varric's, Sera's and Iron Bull's incessant name-calling. Those three seemed to warm up to him pretty quickly, though between Iron Bull and him, there was still a bit of tension. _Not_ sexual tension - Maker forbid if that were to _ever_ happen. Cassandra, Vivienne and the rest refrained from provoking him, though he could tell they remained wary.

"The rest?"

"Ah, well," he shrugged. "I'm used to the treatment they so subtly bestow onto me. What can I say? They don't despise Tevinter for nothing," he clicked his tongue, as not-exactly-fond thoughts came to his head. He mentally shook them off. "I presume you didn't exactly fall into the role of Herald of Andraste with a bed of roses beneath you."

"Before that title, no. After, yes," Lavellan finished the remainder of his drink. He brushed a strand of stray hair from his face, but said no more.

It was a vague answer, though Dorian understood it, anyway.

"You should be celebrating with the rest," Lavellan tilted his head, resembling that of a bird of prey eyeing a potential meal. As blank as it seemed, it did not fail to cause a tendril of desire to grasp Dorian. "I'm not proving to be the most stimulating companion. Why don't you join Varric over there?" he motioned to the far right of the tavern, where the dwarf was laughing loudly with soldiers and several of their group alike. "Or, failing that," here he narrowed his almond-shaped orbs. "Iron Bull?"

" _You_ closed the Breach," Dorian raised an eye, ignoring the inner voice that began to growl hungrily. Despite most elves being lithe and thus smaller in stature than humans, Lavellan was an exception. He was nearly as tall as Dorian, and was extremely toned and muscular, having a bit of good bulk that only amplified his already desirable figure. Dorian thought himself lucky, before snapping back to attention. "I'd prefer to celebrate with the hero himself," he held back from sounding too seductive.

He was a man that had primal needs, and did not resist or think much when attempting to fulfil them. Yet, strangely, he found himself unable to attempt to proceed to further charm the Herald, when he had so easily done so with other men. Why was that?

Maker, you're as stupid as a hart, he admonished himself. He didn't know his sexuality. He frowned – then again, based on past occurrences, that specific factor hadn't exactly stopped him.

He could have sworn the edges of the elf's lips curved upwards. The archer shrugged, and conveyed his humble thanks.

As Lavellan excused himself, under the excuse of needing to speak with someone, Dorian found himself eyeing the back of him as he walked silently off. His well-fitted armour failed to obscure his well-built physique. He watched as the pointy-eared male passed tables where cheering and clapping resounded upon his coming near, as the foul Qunari bellowed and clapped his 'boss' heartily on the back, and as Varric raised a pint in respect.

He truly was exquisite, in body as well as in appearance. Long, willowy hair that was as white as pure snow, an epic jawline...

The whole package, Dorian nodded to himself. He was, without a doubt, drop-dead gorgeous.

He then focussed on the role Lavellan played, and his nose twitched.

He could only pray he would get to see him naked before he _did_ drop dead.

"Hey! Vint!"

Dorian resisted groaning aloud in annoyance, as the Iron Bull approached and seated himself on Lavellan's spot. The Qunari took a deep gulp of the ale, and smiled widely at the unmoved mage. "The night is still young! Don't tell me you're tired, already!" he guffawed. Apparently, drinking was the key to building bridges between the Qunari and Tevinter people. Throwing his head back, he drank more of the ill-tasting liquid. Dorian eyed him in slight shock.

"You are able to bear the taste of that?" he cleared his throat as the seconds went on. It seemed that Bull's pint never seemed to be empty.

"Not as good as what I'm used to," Bull winked. Dorian nearly retched. "But it'll do." He swallowed, and gave a satisfied sigh, causing the sorcerer to draw back slightly from the smell. "So, where's the Boss? Drunk?" he chuckled lowly.

"No, he had other matters to attend to."

"Like what? There's nothing else for him to do – not right now, at least." Bull's eyes suddenly went wide, and Dorian looked at him curiously. "Let me guess – he went to go upstairs with some young lady, eh? Rolling around in the hay?" He slammed a large hand onto the wooden surface, emitting a loud growl. "That sly dog! He should have invited me!"

"What? So you could participate?" Dorian folded his arms, mood slightly spoilt. An old hurt bit at him, and he ferociously subdued it.

"Oh, I _have_ been in threesomes," Bull leaned closer, lowering his voice. "It was pretty rough, you know. I had to grab the-"

"I do _not_ need to hear of your frivolous rendezvous," the Tevinter snapped, allowing some of his annoyance to slip through. Hopefully it would give the infuriating cow a hint.

"What's that I hear? You sound a bit pissed, Vint. I said something to ruffle your dress?"

Dorian's anger flared at the simpleton that was Iron Bull. He opened his mouth to retort, but was beaten to it.

"Oho! You wanna bed the Boss, eh?"

"What? Preposterous!"

"You don't have to hide it, you know. _I'd_ like to thrust myself into him, as well. Pretty thing, eh? Not quite the average elf. Not stick thin like the rest of his people where I could just break him with a flick of my wrist. Imagine him on my bed- No, against the wall - panting and sweaty, as I slid-"

"Urgh! You insufferable, sad excuse of a barbarian!" Dorian got up, refusing to entertain him or the images that had begun to intrude into his own mind any longer. As he left the tavern, he could still hear the boisterous laughter echoing behind.

As silence began to fold in onto him, leaving the warmth and bright lights of the tavern to be consumed, he slowed in his steps.

What if Lavellan _had_ indeed escaped his company to bed some - lucky - maiden? He didn't seem to be the type, though. Still, one could never judge a book by its cover. Dorian paused in his walking, and pondered.

It was no secret to himself that he desired the elven ranger. He desired most of the men he found attractive, after all. Lavellan was no special. So why did the idea of him having intercourse with someone else made him fume, even if it was just a little bit of anger?

 _Because he reminded you of-_

Now, where had that come from? Dorian growled, paying no heed to his own head. He was about to storm the tavern once more, to prove he wasn't at all affected, but then, a soft rustle to his far right caught his attention. Without even thinking, he swiftly hid himself, and watched as Solas and Lavellan stepped into the clearing from one of the village houses. It was a cold night, and both were breathing deeply as they stood on the snow-dusted ground.

For just a split second, Dorian thought the two had slept with each other.

"A much appreciated conversation," Solas gave a small - if not stony - smile. "I must say, it is quite well to be able to share on such topics."

"It is of no consequence," Lavellan raised a hand.

The two began to walk towards the tavern, heads bowed together as they continued to speak softly to one another. Dorian blinked, confused. As they passed his spot, he caught one word.

"...Tranquil," Lavellan had whispered.

Was it true then? Had his suspicions been confirmed?

Dorian felt slightly alarmed, yet strangely interested. All past thoughts were gone now, and his attention was wholly focussed on the current matter at hand.

As a mage, he had great interest in such arts and its theoretical sectors. Curiosity spiked, and feeling once more like a student, he decided to find out more on his own. Such a thing was too attention-seeking to be ignored. Dorian felt a prickle of excitement, as though he was alongside Alexius once more, pondering over the theories of time and whatnot.

The plan to discover the Herald's true identity had now been executed.

.


	2. Part II

_I am going to refrain from describing Fereldan and its different sectors - its scenery and et cetera - too much.  
_ _'Cause I can't be bothered, and a map - alongside pictures - exist on the web._

 _Whenever I think of Varric, I keep thinking of Warcraft's take on dwarfs.  
I can't help it._

 _It is uncommon for me to update this soon.  
Still, perhaps due to my inspiration, it's done. Why not publish it?_

 _You have no idea how many times I've spelt 'Lavellan' as 'Levellan', 'Lavallen', and the list goes on._

.

.

 **IT WAS** decided - travelling with the Inquisition was going to be one heck of a journey. Shortly after they had returned to Haven to celebrate the Herald's successful closure of the accursed Breach - well, it wasn't exactly 'shortly'; more of a few hours - they had been ambushed by red templars, led by a rather pitiable person named Raleigh Samson.

Dorian resisted rolling his eyes. After _that_ had been cleared up, Solas had supposedly suggested a 'most suitable area' to relocate, for Haven had been destroyed during its defensive proceedings. It was quite a depressing event, actually. However, he would not miss the ale.

A strong blast of cold wind slammed into his back, nearly causing him to fall over his stallion. He grimaced, despising the less-than-friendly weather that overtook the Frostback Mountains. He looked about - snow everywhere. Not an inch of terrain - apart from the pavement they were on - untouched by fluffy-white coating.

"How long till we reach Skyhold?" he couldn't resist asking, gritting his teeth.

"If we move quick and hopefully, without anything barring our way, I'd say a day or two." Surprisingly, it was Lavellan who had spoke up from the front. It was a miracle, that he was able to hear him over the harsh conditions. Then again, he was a elf, and had supersonic hearing that probably rivalled that of the Maker.

Dorian was not the only one to be caught unaware, though.

"Finally speaking, Boss?" Iron Bull was the first to recover amongst the group. Sera chortled, while Cullen, their military advisor, Cassandra and Varric shook their heads, either from amusement or relief that their leader was not a complete mute.

.

...

.

No such luck.

They had caught nature at a bad time, and was soon forced to stop due to the air's bitterness and painful chills. Thankfully, camp was set up soon enough, and a warm fire now blazed in the centre. Night was beginning to settle in. The Inner Circle's camp was a little way off the camp of their soldiers.

Dorian tried to sit himself nearest to the licking flames. He much despised the cold. Even with him now donning on a fur cloak and taking other measures to warm himself up, he couldn't stop himself from shivering.

"Cold, Sparkler?" Varric grinned from across, looking much smaller wrapped up. Dorian resisted the idea of punting him across the mountains. "You know, if you ever decide to go to Bull to get warm," he coughed. "I'd appreciate it."

"Not another of your silly book ideas, Varric," Cassandra muttered from the left. She cautiously scanned their surroundings, watching out for any possible threat. When she was satisfied the coast was clear, she continued, "A good author uses his imagination." Suddenly, she looked stricken, as though realising what kind of advice she had given.

"I am an _exceptional_ writer, lass," Varric raised a brow. "I am, however, more of the visual person."

" _I_ wouldn't mind it!" Iron Bull laughed from the other side. "Nothing better than to generate heat from a good rub, right, Boss?" he called over to Lavellan, who was crouching in front of his tent, adjusting his boots. The ranger glanced up, blinked, and seemed genuinely lost.

"Ignore him, Herald," Cassandra stepped in, clearing her throat. "You and your shameless flirting," she threw to the Qunari, who merely laughed again. "How do you go about daily chores?"

Not all of the group had stuck around to throw playful banter. In fact, several of them had preferred staying in their sleeping tents. Majority of that were the ones with a, sadly, serious nature. Shockingly, Sera had opted to remain in the confines of her personal quarters. Perhaps the day had taken its toil on her.

"Join us, won't you?" the dwarf waved the Herald over. "We have much time to talk and, well," he shrugged. "I really could use some ideas for my next installment. I was thinking of naming it..." Here he paused, as though attempting to build up the momentum. "'Hot Nights in Fereldan'." Cassandra huffed at this.

Dorian nearly strained his eyes, attempting to watch for the slightest show of emotion to pass over the Herald's face. None.

"Not today, I'm afraid," Lavellan rubbed his fingers, sounding almost apologetic. Almost.

"Worn out, Boss?" Bull gave him a suggestive look. "You know, I could always help liven you up."

"Urgh!" Cassandra wrinkled her nose, appearing disturbed. "Please, refrain yourself."

"What? I'm just being helpful."

"Another time, Varric," Lavellan gave a rather curt nod, not in the least acknowledging the Qunari's comments. He then brushed aside the flaps of his tent, and disappeared inside. Dorian felt a twinge of smugness as Bull appeared stunned.

"First round of rejection?" he couldn't help but taunt.

"He didn't want to ride the Bull," the massively-sized man replied. "That's something new. I'm going to have great fun courting him." Ride the Bull. What a term. Dorian shifted, holding back from puking.

"Do not defile the word 'courting'!" Cassandra shuddered, the epitome of chivalry and ever the honourable woman. "You're all for pleasure, or none."

"Courtly love is overrated, Seeker."

"Herald's a cold one," Varric noted, not paying heed to the both of them.

"Yeah, breaks my heart. He didn't respond to me."

"Yet, _I wonder why_."

"You're smashing it to bits, Cass."

"When did I ever give you leave to address me as such?"

"Well, at least I am not the only one who noticed it," Dorian murmured. At the same time, he was marvelling at how they seemed to so easily bond despite knowing each other for a short period of time. In Tevinter, it was most uncommon; people were always looking for the slightest opportunity to stab each other in the backs. Maybe bloodshed _did_ strengthen bonds between people.

"You say something, Sparkler?" Varric rubbed his chin. Ah, yes. Sparkler. How much he adored that nickname.

"Ah, I was merely agreeing with your inference."

"You'd think he was a Tranquil, the way he interacts."

"Tranquil?" Now this caught the other two's attention. Iron Bull stretched, purposefully giving Dorian a wink as he proceeded to flex his muscles. "Nah, Boss can't be Tranquil. He's not a mage. He plays with metal sticks and strings, not wooden sticks. He's just a lonely guy that needs some love and attention."

"True," Varric agreed. Cassandra echoed after him.

"A staff is not just a 'wooden stick', you incapable beast," the caster said sharply. A seed of doubt had been planted. Was Lavellan truly a hunter? He knew of secret mages; apostates, they were.

"We have a long day ahead of us," Josephine Montilyet, their faction's chief diplomat and ambassador, popped her head out of where she shared a tent with Sera. "I'd recommend you four getting some rest," she eyed them before pulling back in.

"Speak for herself," Bull said. "She's the one with that elf."

.

...

.

Dorian was surprised to see a lone figure seated by the fire. He had silently crawled out of his tent, unable to bear the freezing temperature any longer. The sky was dark, black and glittering with a thousand stars. Thin tendrils of mist drifted about, and far off, a lone wolf's howl could be heard.

"...Herald?" Addressing the elf male in that manner was weird and uncomfortable enough, though not as much as calling him Lavellan. At the acknowledging nod, Dorian settled himself by the burning light, across him. It was colder here than inside, but at least the warmth made up for it. Faint glowing orbs shone at the corner of his eyes; soldiers on night watch, he presumed.

"Dorian," Lavellan greeted, feeding the fire with more twigs. "Have you rested?"

"Adequately so."

"Was it satisfactory?"

"Indeed," Dorian nodded. Such a lie, that was. He was almost certain he couldn't feel his butt-checks anymore. "I couldn't be happier to be tossing about and wheezing every couple of seconds. A most favourable place to spend the night," he proclaimed.

"If you feel the shivers, Cullen has a few extra blankets stashed," Lavellan did not smile, nor chuckle at his response. Offensive, that was. "I assume Iron Bull or Sera has a stash of drink somewhere. You could have some to warm your blood," he added as an afterthought.

How was Dorian going to go about on this? He couldn't exactly just say it aloud.

"Varric was," he started. "Talking about your disposition towards others, earlier." Perfect.

"Was he?" Lavellan replied, looking into the flames. It reflected in his eyes.

"Yes, he was pointing out your... lack of liveliness." Maker, how much more direct could he get?

"Am I that dull? I think myself to be perfectly amiable." Was he joking? Dorian wanted to scoff.

"Cassandra seems to have warmed up to you, that's a good thing," Lavellan commented.

"Ah - yes, if being dragged out by Varric and Iron Bull can be considered her wanting to spend time with me."

"Do not mistake my words," here he turned to face the mage. "I merely-"

"I know, and I apologise," Dorian quickly interrupted. By the Maker's third nipple, did he truly have no sense of humour?

"You're not a Tranquil, are you, Herald?"

Well, _kaffas_.

"Not the most subtle way to ask?" he offered, smiling stiffly. Mentally, he was wishing he had the spell to polymorph himself into a sheep. Then, he noticed how Lavellan had stiffened, and turned away from him to stare back into the fire.

"Forgive me," Dorian went on. "That was improper. Iron Bull had dispelled such an accusation, by reminding us of your specialisation."

"If you knew that, why would you still ask?" If possible, Lavellan sounded even colder.

By Andraste, was he _right_?

"Just because you think me heartless, it does not necessarily categorise me as Tranquil, or a _mage_ ," he seemed to hiss. Dorian nearly flinched - well, at least his anger was showing. That didn't mean he was a Tranquil, then. But... whatever of the second suspicion?

"Do you hate mages?"

"What?" Lavellan lifted his head. "No, I do not. If what I'd said hurt you in any way, I apologise."

Well, Dorian was already pretty used to being hated. It did not fail to hurt a little, though. Still, he wasn't about to give up. He'd always got what he wanted, after all. "Oh? You didn't seem too pleased to be thought of as a mage."

"I take great pride in being a ranger. To be thought of as otherwise..."

That was, frustratingly, a great comeback.

"Some people merely do not show their emotions, much," Lavellan began to lecture. The mage felt a sense of dread - great, he had possibly managed to get on the Herald's bad side. The bond, despite its thinness and fragility, they had managed to weave whilst in the tavern was most likely now snipped. "They do not display, but they still feel. Everyone's personalities differ, Dorian. I admit to being a little more reserved than most."

A little? Almost as much and large as the whole of Fereldan and Orlais combined. He could not argue against the words, though, for it held truth in them.

"I am aware the Inquisition is worried for my lack of... show. You can tell them to not worry."

What? Did he think Josephine and Cullen had sent him?

"I... see," Dorian did not know what else to say. He got up. "Once again, I am sorry for my lack of manners." Lavellan nodded, and did nothing else as the Tevinter headed back to his tent.

Alright, so the Herald definitely had feelings, but it didn't mean he wasn't an apostate. No matter what the elf had said in his defense, it didn't make sense for him to actually be riled up.

He would definitely have to find a way to dig up more information.

However, he would have to be more cautious.

Dorian Pavus was never the most subtle man - in concealing his curiosity as well as urges.

.


	3. Part III

_I have to admit, I'm not the best at character description._  
 _I'm rather unequipped when managing Vivienne's, Blackwall's and Josephine's characters._

 _So, forgive me if they seem out-of-character, or if I decide to not acknowledge them often.  
I appreciate tips on how to carry them, though._

 _In addition, I suck at timelines.  
So, I've decided that time is pretty irrelevant, but the chronological order I will try to keep accurate._

.

.

 **DORIAN RESISTED** acting according to his wishes - to grab the dwarf by his collar and heave him off the ground, making his stubby little feet dangle helplessly above the snow-crusted floor. It was early morning, the sun had yet to fully rise. Yet, in such a forgotten place, it was a wonder the sun ever rose at all.

"Varric," he sighed, frustration prickling at him as majority of their group scuttled about. The Herald, Cullen and Iron Bull had yet to wake. "I want a new nickname," he almost demanded. Varric looked at him, surprised.

"What's wrong with Sparkler, Sparkler?" he questioned, earnestly looking confused. "Not colourful enough for your, ah, regal tastes?" Dorian huffed - everyone seemed determined to never let him live it down - his lineage, that is.

"I'd have you know," he retorted. "No one's peeled a grape for me in _months_." When Varric did not move, he rolled his eyes. "You must know me better, now. Or does the moniker you gave me _five minutes_ after we'd met still apply?"

"You've just joined us, Sparkler," Varric coughed. "Like, what? Three, four days ago? I doubt I would have gotten to know you better," he grinned. "Besides, I have the eyes of a storyteller. It's a gift - I use it to bestow the best name I can on others."

"You don't seem to call _them_ differently," Dorian pointed out, scowling but knowing that he still looked good.

"That's because they've been in the group much longer than you have, and I've gotten to acquaint myself with them well enough to decide that they don't need nicknames."

"By 'much longer', do you mean by a few days?"

"You call _me_ Buttercup!" Sera suddenly protested from the sides.

"I've grown to like you, Buttercup, take it as an honour."

"So, what, you choose Sparkler because I'm a light you stick in a window sill to impress others?" Dorian scoffed, folding his arms. "All flash, no heat?" Abruptly, he paused, and began thinking. "That's... actually pretty clever." Quite the compliment, too. He could feel his mood being lifted up.

As though sensing his newly-found pleasure, Varric smiled widely. "See? Embrace your place in the universe, Sparkler."

"Where is the Herald?" Josephine questioned, eyes narrowed as she looked about the make-shift camp. "We have to reach Skyhold as soon as possible. We can't afford to waste valuable time to come up with new strategies and forge diplomatic relations." She appeared irritated.

"Let me," Blackwall got up from the fire, placing down the bowl of stew.

"Thank you," Josephine nodded, a small smile of appreciation crossing her lips. "Oh, and while you're it, please do the same for the Commander and Iron Bull." She sighed, shaking her head. "Those three are such heavy sleepers."

"Oh, darling," Vivienne began to purr. Even in the freezing wastes, she was still dressed in finery. "You-"

"I'm up! I'm up, you piece of-!" a loud, deep voice interrupted her, and Varric exchanged an amused glance with Dorian at the less-than-pleased expression of the Orlesian mage at having been cut off mid-sentence.

Blackwall came out of Iron Bull's tent. He ran a hand through his unruly black hair, before unconsciously flexing his fingers. Iron Bull followed behind, pissed and very much annoyed.

"Some way to wake me up," the Qunari snarled, rubbing his cheek.

"Am I late?" Cullen's worried voice sounded. He blinked and looked at them, mentally ticking off each name. "I shall wake the Herald," he said, as though it was an action he was obligated to do, having been one of the last few to get up. "Is he asleep, though?"

"Yes, of course," Josephine's lips curled upwards. As the blond disappeared through the flaps, she briskly motioned for everyone to begin packing. "Cassandra, please inform the rest of our upcoming departure." The Seeker nodded, and began making her way towards the second encampment, where it was already bustling with life.

Dorian did not meet the eyes of Lavellan as he emerged. After what had transpired between the two of them, how could he?

Besides, it was too a matter of pride.

.

...

.

Thankfully, the day had gone on without much disturbance, save for a few pack of wolves interested in having a meal, and soon enough - though not soon by Dorian's standards - they were beginning to set up camp again. Based on Solas' words, by the next day's noon, they would have reached Skyhold.

"Where's the Boss?" Iron Bull raised a brow - a pair that Dorian thought to be almost non-existent. As usual, Lavellan had been silent and stoic as always, only pausing to speak with Solas, or exchange a few words with Cullen and Josephine. Leliana, their Spymaster, had opted to not travel alongside them. Rather, she would meet them at Skyhold itself.

"Maker knows," Varric shrugged, pulling off his boots to shake out the snow. Dorian watched him, fascinated at his supposed immunity to the ridiculous temperature. "Taking a shit, somewhere. I guess. Sometimes he's so still, I forget he has a bladder and organs."

"It's so boring, you know," Sera cut in, frowning as she stretched out on the log. "Let's play a game, yeah?" her eyes twinkled.

"What, pray tell, would you play out _here_?" Vivienne sniffed, eyeing her. "It is most unflattering, Sera, to-"

"Wicked Grace?" Varric finished for the elf.

"Count me in!" Iron Bull laughed. "I have a whole cask of ale to last us the whole night long."

"I have more than one," Sera lifted her chin proudly. "I brought like, well, I don't know actually. Twenty bottles?" she sniggered. "Stole it from the guy at Haven."

"Goodness," the Orlesian seemed appalled. She pursed her lips, and with a showy manner, stood up and entered the tent that she shared with Cassandra.

"You're no fun!" Sera stuck out her tongue, before turning to face Varric and Bull. "Let's do this, already."

"Before that," Cassandra coughed. "We really do have to find the Herald. He's nowhere to be seen. Josephine's sent Cullen out to make sure he's safe, but..." here she shrugged. Dorian frowned, looking about them. True to her words, the elf was not amidst them. How had he not noticed? Well, perhaps he had been too silent to even notify anyone of his comings and goings.

"Everything was going so well, too," Dorian sighed. "Not a single hitch in our journey, and our beloved Herald has to go stir up trouble on his own." He clicked his tongue.

"That is not confirmed," Cassandra replied cautiously.

"Better safe than sorry," Bull nodded. He took in a deep breath, and heaved his heavy frame upwards. Sera grumbled at this. "I'll go check around the place."

"Should we notify the soldiers?" Varric raised a brow. The Seeker shook her head.

"No. We would not want to kick up a fuss, if this turns out to be nothing more than... a slight scare."

"Fine by me. I'll stay here."

"Typical," the black-haired woman sighed.

" _I_ don't care," Sera said cheekily. "Come on, Varric. You start."

As the two began shuffling the cards, Dorian rose himself, unable to stop from worrying just a little.

.

...

.

He was about to give up and head back to camp, when he spotted a curled up ball of black fur in the distance. Dorian narrowed his eyes, and grabbed the edge of his staff, prepared to go on the defensive should the wolf decide to have a little taste of him... not that he didn't taste good. Based on past experiences, many had told him he reminded them of-

"Focus, Dorian," he wrinkled his nose.

At his voice, the wolf's ear twitched and in a split second, it leapt up. It snarled at him, thick fur bristling and jaws snapping. Even in Frostback, it was eerily quiet, making it easy for many to hear one another, even at a distance. Dorian stiffened. Suddenly, the wolf spun and ran off further down the snow, soon disappearing from sight.

He heaved a sigh of relief, before remembering how unfruitful his trip had been. It wasn't good - the Herald was no where to be seen. Perhaps he was already back in camp? Dorian sniffed, turning to quickly return, just to prevent a second expedition to mount.

"There you are!" Varric cried as he came into view, features illuminated by the fire. It was now night. "We were about to head out to find you, ourselves! Where did you go?"

"Searching for the Herald," Dorian replied, as though the answer was obvious.

"You didn't have to stay out _that_ long, Vint," Iron Bull chuckled, prodding one of his biceps. "Just leave it to the Bull." The mage pulled away from the coarse fingers, not liking how rough it felt against his own soft, smooth skin.

"Well, did he return?"

"Yeah, just did," Sera replied, slurring with her head drooping. She held a bottle of rum limply in one hand. "Elfy be in his own tent, sleepin' like a little baby." Dorian was going to pretend he hadn't heard that. The image of a half-naked Lavellan was unnerving.

"Josephine gave us quite the scolding," Varric explained. "Said something about having no concern for the future of the Inquisiton and our mates."

"The other elf scolded us too... the more-elfy, bald one. I nearly threw a rock at him."

"Where had he gone to?" Dorian continued to enquire, feeling amused yet relieved. Cassandra glanced up at him.

" _Wolf hunting_ , apparently," she flatly responded.

"Leave it to a guy like Boss!" Iron Bull roared in laughter, before being shushed by Blackwall. "To do things like that!"

"Yeah," Varric shook his head, joining in.

"I caught sight of a wolf, on my way back," Dorian said. "Must have been one of the survivors."

"Boss showing mercy? What a nice guy."

"Perhaps, it ran away upon seeing me."

"Not a big surprise," Blackwall shrugged. It was rare for him to speak, let alone throw himself into a conversation. "It must have been frightened and wary."

"Did the Herald say why he did so?" Cassandra questioned, frowning thoughtfully.

"Said something about wanting to keep in shape, and having his ranger skills intact and all," Varric replied. "Josephine and Cullen seemed to buy it. Vivienne merely laughed."

"A whole bunch of shit, if you ask me," the Qunari oh-so-graciously gave his own opinion. "Boss probably just wanted to get away from all of us."

"I'm not surprised, with someone as uncultured and barbaric like you," Dorian muttered. However, another thought had now settled in his head. What if Lavellan had taken a short leave of absence to get away from _him_? Or to escape the duties of being in the Inquisition? Had his words gotten to the elf? Did he really have something to hide?

"At least he's back, Vint. It shows he doesn't _completely_ want to desert us. _Ah_ , his sweetness is getting to me. I'm going to need something to rub all that sauce off."

"Manners!" Cassandra spluttered, cheeks flushing.

"You're turning red, Cass. Did you want to volunteer?"

"By the Maker, no!"

Dorian watched as they threw insults back and forth, still deep in thought.

The Herald of Andraste was beginning to prove himself to be a most intriguing character...

\- and the mage was starting to think his reservedness was concealing something more sinister.

.


	4. Part IV

_I apologise if all four chapters seem a little rushed.  
I can't say that I have not rushed them. I did, actually… a little._

 _These four are what I consider – to myself – the prelude.  
I must have been too excited for this story._

 _For the record, this Inquisitor is not based off my own._

.

.

 **MAHANON LAVELLAN** stood still, awkwardly shifting his body now and again. He was still preoccupied by a specific conversation he had shared with Mother Giselle of the Chantry after the attack on Haven. She had questioned him on his belief of the Maker, and he had uneasily replied he had not yet made up his mind. Religion was never a topic to cross his mind much, and while some Dalish elves continued to revere their ancient Elvish gods, Lavellan found himself edging towards Andraste's teachings, though not completely having faith in it.

"I believe, but is that enough?" he had warily said. By the expression on her face, she probably had already classified him as a believer of little faith. Probably as close as a non-believer. Afterwards, Solas had approached him, seemingly distracted.

"We must find out how Corypheus survived... and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn that the orb is of our people."

"They'll blame us eventually," Lavellan had cautiously responded, and that was that. He did not ask how Solas had found out about the orb's origins. Now, seated upon a docile creature, he began to feel the strain of being the Herald of Andraste. Already it seemed to be quite a role; a role he had not come into willingly. Unconsciously, he clenched his fist.

Shaking his head slightly, he kept his face blank as they continued to ride forward towards Skyhold.

.

...

.

"What?" he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Not this time. "Everyone agreed to this? I'm not even human - let again your chosen one!" he argued, staring at the crowd that had formed around him. His own Inner Circle, the Inquisitor's ruling council, and their soldiers, agents - et cetera. They all seemed to gaze up at him, eyes sparkling as though he were a beacon of hope. They had just reached Skyhold, and before he had even known, he was now being called to take up the highest position in their company.

"There would be no Inquisition with you, Herald," Josephine smiled. "How it will serve, how you lead: that is up to you to decide."

"Fen'Harel..." Lavellan swallowed, still shaken. "I... I don't know if..." It was not often he was at a loss for words. This seemed to be too much to believe. It was only a week or two ago that he had been leading a peaceful, undisturbed life. Now, here he was - propositioned to be the next Inquisitor. The Inquisition was a massive organisation, a force to be reckoned with - could he really lead them? He didn't feel worthy to lead such a powerful faction.

In addition, did he really want this? He had been forcefully dragged into the whole messed-up event. Now, a great responsibility had been thrown at his feet - a responsibility that could possibly impact the immediate world. The whole ordeal till now had been taxing enough, would the duties of being Inquisitor break him? Even the Maker knew he wasn't the weakest man.

Corypheus... the Orb... all these were not matters to be jokingly pushed aside. Lavellan ran a hand through his hair, unsure. He glanced up. They remained where they were, some holding their breath, while others appeared tense yet hopeful. They truly saw him to be their leader. They had _faith_ in him - that he would be able to save Fereldan from the upcoming threats. Did he feel that way? Could he really?

Being the Herald of Andraste already placed him in a position of authority... but to be the Inquisitor... it was rather surreal. Even the ceremonial sword was out, and presented to him.

"Josephine..." he narrowed his eyes, forgetting to keep up his emotionless facade. At that moment, Varric cleared his throat - it was loud amongst the silence.

"Boss," the dwarf grinned. "You got us into this mess. You should lead us out of it."

Lavellan paused, thinking. In the short time he had travelled with them - _fought_ with them, they already seemed to be friends to him. If he were honest, they reminded him of _family_. Their quirky, distinct personalities, the banter they threw... He couldn't deny he felt a bond with them, even if it wasn't as strong as with his clan.

"I'm not your 'boss', Varric," he couldn't help but give a small smile. That title - though not official - was another reason why he felt that way. Even though he clearly wasn't their leader, they seemed to think and see him as such. At this moment, the elf realised that the confidence they had in him stretched further back than today.

"We want you as such, Herald," Blackwall suddenly spoke up, quiet yet earnest.

"Yeah!" Sera chortled, giving him a warm look. "I like you, you know. Not too elf-like for me."

"We'll follow you into whatever, Boss," Iron Bull joined in.

"We may not be the closest friends," Cassandra appeared disapproving for a second, before her cold demeanour faded away almost reluctantly. "But we trust you, Herald. In these few days we have spent with you... you have earned the Inquisition's good hand... as well as _ours_ ," she gestured to the Inner Circle.

"You have proven yourself," Leliana's soft voice then spoke, though she was nowhere to be seen in the crowds.

"With the amount of support behind me, how can I reject?" Lavellan finally said, earning a loud cheer and insane shouting. "I'll do this for justice, as it is the right thing to do. Corypheus must be stopped," he grimly added, hefting the sword upright into the air.

The sounds were deafening, as everyone in the hold welcomed their newly-appointed Inquisitor.

.

...

.

"So, _Inquisitor_ ," a familiar voice voiced from over his shoulders. He turned around.

"Dorian," Lavellan blinked. Unknowingly, he slipped back into his former self.

"Oh, please, don't give me that look again," the Altus winced. "I merely wish to apologise once more." The ranger tilted his head.

"There is no need to. I have already forgiven you."

"If you had, it clearly doesn't seem to be the case."

"It's in my second nature," Lavellan shrugged helpfully. Suddenly, he straightened himself up. Dorian appeared shocked for a split second, before the expression was smoothed away. "In any case, I suppose _I_ should be the one seeking your forgiveness."

"Pardon?"

"I should not have snapped at you," he explained. "You were quite right to think of me to be a suspicious individual." Here he abruptly fell silent. Dorian watched him, curiosity undisguised in his eyes. Quite a rare thing, for the mage was as proficient in masking his emotions as well as him.

In Lavellan's head, he was battling a thousand thoughts at once.

He knew Dorian was intelligent, and unfortunately, that brightness had gotten him nearly exposed. However... was it worth continuing to attempt to conceal it? It was obvious Dorian already had his suspicions, and wasn't about to dispel them away carelessly till getting a satisfactory answer - and the hunter knew that that 'satisfactory answer' wasn't going to be something as simple as being 'reserved' or anything of that notion.

For some weird reason or another, Lavellan felt that the Tevinter spell-caster, in fact, already knew. Had he sensed it with his own magical prowess? Perhaps Lavellan's mask had not been so efficient, after all.

Still, even if Lavellan _did_ decide to tell him... could he keep such a secret? Was he trustworthy? He was part of the Inner Circle, and had Lavellan's trust to accomplish whatever task was flung to him, but when it came to matters of personal issues, and of the heart... Even Lavellan could not deny he had doubts towards the mage, himself. He very much knew that he didn't care much for Dorian being from Tevinter, but still, one could never be too careful, especially in such a world rampant with cruelty and selfishness.

"Inquisitor?"

Lavellan felt drained. It was all so exhausting, to persist in acting like a cold-hearted bastard. All this trouble to conceal his identity, even from the very start, was beginning to wear on him. Not to mention, he actually felt guilty for being so distant towards the very people he was meant to work together with.

It still amazed him, that they chose him despite his - false - disposition. They trusted him more than he did them. It wasn't exactly balanced on both sides of the table. His side was tipping more. If everyone kept hidden words and thoughts from one another, how could they ever hope to band to defeat Corypheus and whoever wished to stand in their way?

There too was the risk of being found out forcefully. It definitely would not reflect greatly. The Inquisitor, being seen as a liar and cheat? How would it stand for the rest of the Inquisition? Was it better to let the damage hit now, than later? For the latter, he doubted it would ever be able to be brushed aside. The former still held a chance for atonement.

The white-haired male sighed, and dropped his head. Dorian's eyes widened at this display.

"Care to have a drink with me later on, Dorian? We have a few things to talk about."

.

...

.

"I forgot, Inquisitor, that I had not gotten the chance to… ah," Cassandra furrowed her brows. The whole of their Inner Circle were together in the Herald's Rest – Skyhold's tavern - chugging ale and beer. Even Solas and Vivienne had joined, though they sipped wine. "I wanted you to know that I regret my horrendous treatment of you when-" she stopped again, flustered.

"Saying sorry ain't one of your good points, Seeker?" Iron Bull snorted.

"It's alright," Lavellan smiled. "I understand."

"That's… a relief. I thank you, Inquisitor," Cassandra nodded.

"Lavellan, if you will."

"Oh," Cassandra couldn't keep her astonishment in check. "Well, then. Lavellan," she repeated.

"New man, Inquisitor?" Varric placed down his tankard, wiping the corners of his lips with the back of his hand. "If I remember correctly, you didn't protest when we addressed you as Herald, or Boss! Guess Inquisitor must be a whole new chunk of heavy, eh?" he joked.

"Quite," Lavellan gave a somewhat restrained grin in turn. "I wanted to thank you all for your support, though. It gave me the courage to step forward."

"Talking about our feelings, now?" Bull said. "Did giving you the position of Inquisitor crack your shell, Boss? You're smiling more than I have seen in a lifetime. You power-hungry human," he bellowed, though his high volume failed to par with that of the tavern itself. Many were mingling about and relaxing before the next day – when the mini-celebration would cease to continue.

"That's quite enough from you," Josephine cut in.

"No, it's fine. I just…" Lavellan appeared thoughtful. "Warmed up to you, is all. Especially when you guys said all those words to get me to become Inquisitor," a wry smile touched his lips. "A most efficient strategy, I must say."

"What can _we_ say? We do our best, Boss. Glad to see you finally crawl out."

"Do your best to keep the public from starting riots, instead. Not everyone's going to not mind an elf Inquisitor."

As a game of Wicked Grace commenced, Dorian couldn't help but think deeper into that.

The Inquisitor _did_ seem different. The contrast was comparable. Had the Maker himself touch the elf during the ceremony? He was much more open, much more expressive than before. It nearly scared the shit of Dorian out into his small-clothes. Then, he thought back to their most recent exchange. He had no doubt that what they were about to share was related to the male's unexpected turn in attitude. Many a more enquires settled within him; hopefully they would be answered tonight.

As though on cue, Lavellan turned to lock eyes.

He excused himself, and rose before heading over to the entrance to the tavern. It was a silent invitation, and Dorian heeded it almost excitedly. Thankfully, the group was much too engrossed in their game to notice.

He had always been a sucker for knowledge… and the company of handsome men.

.

…

.

"May I know where this conversation is possibly headed?" Dorian questioned as the two sat across from one another. They had gone to a secluded area of Skyhold – though most of it were sealed off, awaiting reconstruction and development – which turned up to be the Inquisitor's new quarters. It was splendid, though not nearly as large as Dorian's old room back in Tevinter, but it was enough to impress him. Dorian had grabbed a chair, and brought it to the working desk, which Lavellan had already seated himself.

"Me dead or imprisoned," the elf replied most-not-humorously, intertwining his fingers as he stared at Dorian. As though he had reverted to his quiet persona, Dorian could not distinguish any form of emotion within those mesmerising depths. The mage cleared his throat, and forced out a charming smile.

"You exaggerate," he gave a small laugh, but somehow knew the Inquisitor was not exactly joking.

"Perhaps," Lavellan blinked. He brought his hands to his mouth, fingers forming an arc over them. "You seem to have seen past me, Dorian." If Dorian had not known better, he would have assumed it was a threat, but he knew it was otherwise, for he managed to catch a hint of worry and uneasiness in them. Somehow the atmosphere became dark and brooding, and the mage leaned back.

"You are referring to my past questions, yes?"

"What do you think I am?"

"You?" That question caught him by surprise. Dorian thought for a while, contemplating if he should say it.

"Please, be honest."

That gave him the courage to say, "A mage."

Instead of responding as how he had responded, Lavellan merely nodded. "That, you are correct," the hunter hesitantly confirmed.

"Well, I'm not exactly surprised. I've kind of expected it to be as such." However, Dorian still felt a twinge of pleasure at being corrected, as well as alarm.

"As did I."

"Are others aware of this?" He needed to know. This was proving to be most perilous, indeed.

"…No."

"An apostate, then?"

"Why else would I need to hide it, then?" Lavellen threw back. He sighed, and rubbed his face. "I… The Chantry does not know of this."

"Clearly."

"That's why I was so…"

"Cold?" Dorian supplied.

"Yes. That. I was so worried others would discover of my true nature, and…" he gestured about him, planting the obvious. Dorian frowned.

"Is being a mage so tragic and depressing? If they knew from the start, I truly doubt anything fatal would have happened. The Hero of Fereldan had been a mage, if you would recall."

"I don't wish to be controlled by the Chantry, to be ruled over by them, to have Templars eyeing any step I make," Lavellan muttered, appearing more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. "Even my clan is unaware of this." Dorian nodded slowly. Mages were the ruling class in Tevinter, he could not exactly relate to that, unless the words 'Templars' and 'Chantry' was replaced with 'Father'.

"Is that all?" Dorian probed, when the Inquisitor did not continue. Something told him it was not the end.

"No…

"Look, Dorian… I am a shapeshifter."

"Wh-at?" Dorian's voice cracked, astonishment swooping into him. "You-?"

"That's the main reason why I have to keep my being a mage quiet," Lavellan winced. Shapeshifters were seen to be as bad as blood magics. Forbidden arts, the Chantry had said, and none were to practice them. Those who did ever did so only in private. The Tevinter was gobsmacked – the elf being a mage, he could handle, but a shapeshifter?

"How-?"

"A fellow mage taught me," Lavellan quickly replied. "None knew of her talent in magic. Only me." However, he could only nod. For several moments he was silent, drinking it all in, and shuffling through the pieces. They fit, but a few were still missing from the puzzle.

"Dorian?"

"Allow me to ask a few questions."

"If it would please you." Several ideas entered Dorian's mind, but he pushed them away to focus on the task at hand.

"You're a mage. An apostate, at that."

"Yes."

"You are a shapeshifter, as well - taught by another apostate within your clan."

"Yes."

"You act icy and Frostback-Mountain-Like to hide it all, in case one found out you were a mage, and chose to report you to the Chantry."

"More concerned at being found as a shapeshifter, but yes all the same."

"Well, your attempt failed. I found out."

"...Yes."

"Why me?"

"I-" Lavellan collected himself, and shrugged. Inhaling, he then proceeded to spill his previous thoughts out. He never once was interrupted, only by the occasional 'mm', 'I see' and 'Of course; I am rather brilliant'.

"That reminds me," Dorian snapped his fingers. "That wolf I saw..." He raised a brow in silent questioning.

"That was me."

"Wolf hunting?" he offered, a tinge of suaveness in them. "Tracking down the Big Bad Wolf and his little pups?"

"It was an excuse. I needed time to be myself - the stress of being a Herald was heavy, even then."

"Inquisitor, I am... somewhat honoured you have chosen to share this with me," Dorian slowly said, unsure of how to proceed. "Be rest assured, your secret will be well-kept, unless you wish to...?"

"No. They shouldn't know. Not yet, at least. I hope."

"You were more expressive and joyous then. Why?"

"I felt a great weight lifted off, when I decided to confide in you. I've decided to act as myself, while attempting to keep these... information, invisible."

"Lucky me," Dorian grinned. Lavellan gave a reluctant laugh.

"You do not despise me, I hope?"

"Nonsense. You are a mage, and so am I. The both of us can forge an alliance - an alliance made of despised mages who illicitly delve into blood magic and shapeshifting."

The edges of the elven mage's lips twitched. "Thank you, for accepting me."

"I had been expecting worse - like you were an abomination that somehow co-ruled your body with a demon. Or that you were Andraste herself, and could not be found out by anyone."

Now, he laughed aloud.

"This coming from the dreaded mage of Tevinter."

"It is my pleasure, Inquisitor. Now, let us proceed back to the tavern. I would not wish to miss the ale for all the world. You _did_ say we would be having a drink."

"You jest, and Lavellan, if you will."

"Indeed."

As they left, Dorian couldn't help but be in good spirits. People had not confided in him before - save Felix - and for once, in a long while, he felt... special. Lavellan now seemed to consider him as a friend, and he wasn't that lonely anymore, having to have another mage by his side.

As they spoke, he gave the Inquisitor a subtle glance from the corner of his eyes. He now knew what had stopped him from flirting - it had been the Inquisitor's cold front. He had managed to tear that down. Now, as he watched the elf speak with emotion, features twisting with every word, as though no stress pressed down upon him... he seemed even _more_ attractive, if that were even possible,

\- and more approachable, too.

.


End file.
